CAINE
The storm's wandered off, calming the air. But not me.
My skin doesn't fit. My muscles twitch with excess energy. I pace the narrow confines of Lyre's camper like something caged, each circuit bringing me closer to Grace, then forcing myself away.
Fenris is still outside. The blessing of the Lycan King—to have my wolf as a distinct entity. Right now, it feels like a curse. Double the chaos, double the pressure building with nowhere to go.
You need to settle, Fenris growls through our bond. The pups can sense your distress. You're leaking it out.
I ignore him. Grace had pushed me away earlier, hands firm against my chest, eyes wild with panic. Smart girl. I understand why—the logical part of my brain even agrees with her caution—but the primal core of me seethes with rejection.
Her scent fills the confined space. Blueberry muffins, warm and sweet. It used to calm me. Now it agitates, hooks into something dark and hungry, demanding satisfaction.
